


Paris

by moststeph



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Fluff, I Love You, Idiots in Love, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 17:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moststeph/pseuds/moststeph
Summary: fluffy first time they say I love you. It's an accident, and then it's deliberate.





	Paris

They were in Paris when it happened. On the trail of a THRUSH agent, Gaby and Illya were posing as newlyweds on their honeymoon while Napoleon was Gaby’s businessman brother who just happened to have work in Paris at the same time. The three of them settled into their adjoining rooms at the H ôtel du Louvre and their surveillance routine with their usual ease. 

Gaby awoke one morning to find Napoleon on the telephone rattling off their breakfast order in rapid French, and Illya in the bathroom showering after his morning run. He emerged soon after she woke up, wrapped in a towel with his hair wet around his ears. Gaby loved him like that, soft and vulnerable. He was more real that way, somehow. Gaby hummed happily and snuggled into Napoleon’s side as Illya slid back into the enormous king bed at Solo’s other side. Napoleon hung up the telephone.

“Our breakfast is on its way,” he announced as he threw an arm around Illya’s shoulders and pulled Gaby closer. He stroked her hair absentmindedly. 

“Do you order breakfast for everyone you sleep with?” Gaby teased, still half asleep.

“No,” Napoleon said. “Just people I love.”

All three of them froze. You could hear a pin drop in the hotel room.

“Um,” Napoleon said, his voice high and tight with panic. “I mean-”

“TOO LATE,” Gaby practically shouted, shooting up from the bed. She pushed herself up, settling in cross-legged as Illya’s undershirt slid off one of her shoulders. 

“You LOVE us,” she said, grinning. Illya propped himself up on his elbow and looked at Napoleon in a way that could only be described as devilish. 

“She is right, Cowboy. Can’t take that back,” he said. Napoleon practically pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“You know you both love me too,” he said, challenging. Gaby caught Illya’s eye and grinned. Oh, they were going to enjoy this.

“I feel you’re a decent partner,” Gaby said thoughtfully.

“A loyal comrade,” Illya offered. 

“An adequate cook,” Gaby added. 

“Adequate?!” Napoleon practically squeaked. “I am a  _ fantastic _ cook and you know it. I can’t help that you both have unrefined palates.” 

“You  _ would _ take issue with that,” Gaby said, laughing. Illya grinned at her across Solo’s folded arms. Napoleon scoffed, then Gaby saw his face fall a bit.  _ Always so sensitive beneath the mask _ , she thought. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“We know you love us,” she said gently. Illya leaned forward and mimicked her, kissing Solo’s other cheek. Napoleon turned to nuzzle his nose against Illya’s. 

“You’re lucky I love you because I also quite fervently hate both of you,” Napoleon muttered, but he looked mollified. Then, just as quickly, he looked downright evil. He put his hands behind his head with a sensual wiggle of his shoulders, then leaned back against the headboard, the picture of ease. 

“Now,” he said, content as a cat. “Is there something you’d like to say to each other?”

If looks could kill, Napoleon thought, he would have dropped dead on the spot from the glare Illya immediately gave him. Gaby, on his other side, looked like she might punch him. Simultaneously they looked from him to each other and then immediately looked away.  _ Excellent _ , Napoleon thought.  _ My turn. _

“I mean this has been a long time coming,” he said lazily. “It was practically love at first sight in Berlin.”

“She asked you to shoot me,” Illya said, frowning.    
  


“True,” Napoleon said. “But after that.” Gaby’s jaw tightened and Solo was quite sure she was considering which vital artery to go for first. 

“You’re both perfectly nice teammates,” Gaby said stubbornly. “That’s all.” The three of them sat in prickly silence for a minute. Gaby dropped her gaze to the opulent bedspread and refused to raise her head until she heard Illya’s soft and tentative, 

“Gaby.” 

Gaby raised her face to see Illya looking at her and Napoleon looking at Illya. Illya had pulled himself into a sitting position next to Solo, facing her across the other man’s broad chest. The tenderness on both their faces nearly took her breath away.

“Gaby,” Illya said again, more confidently. “I know it is not easy for you - for us - to say things like this,” he said. “But...I do love you,  _ dorogoy _ .” He paused. “I think you already know this.”    
  
Gaby nodded, her heart fluttering, not trusting herself to speak. Illya turned to Napoleon.

“And you too, Cowboy,” he said, with a little smile. “Though God only knows why.”   
  
“Devilish good looks, copious amounts of charm, and I’m fantastic in bed,” Napoleon answered immediately. “Quite obvious.” Illya shook his head at Solo with a small smile and looked at Gaby, who was smiling in spite of herself. When Illya met her gaze, she dropped hers back to the bedspread. He and Napoleon lay still and quiet, waiting for her. They would always wait for her. 

  
She played with a loose thread on the comforter idly. The spread was absolutely ridiculous - some ostentatious red and gold thing, in a vaguely Rococo style meant to evoke thoughts of Versailles and Louis XIV. Napoleon had grandly requested “Your finest room, please!” at check in, like he was a medieval duke stopping a humble inn on his journey to court. He always did that, winning the concierges over with irresistible smiles and generous tips. And Illya would always roll his eyes and mutter about indulgent capitalists but go along with it anyway, waving off the bellboys to carry Gaby’s luggage up to their room. Gaby felt her chest tighten.  _ Oh, Gott _ . 

“Yes,” she finally told the bedspread. “I love you both.” She looked up again to find Napoleon smiling at her - not his charismatic, you-can-trust-me smile he used on marks, nor his confident smirk when he got under Gaby’s skin or had Illya gasping his name. It was a vulnerable, quiet smile that he only ever gave the two of them. It had been months that they’d been a team before she’d even seen it.

And Illya - oh, Illya. He was looking at her the way he’d gazed at her that day in Rome, after adjusting her tracker. Like she was everything he’d ever wanted in the world, and he’d give anything, even his own life, to give her what she needed. It hurt to see that much devotion.

Gaby raised her chin to them both, daring them to say anything about the tears she was pretending weren’t in her eyes. Neither of them did.

“Idiots,” she added with emphasis, giving them both a watery smile. Napoleon’s smile became a full grin, and Illya huffed a fond laugh. Napoleon reached out and pulled her back to his side, putting his other arm back around Illya. Illya stretched across Napoleon’s collarbones to kiss Gaby gently on the lips. 

A knock at the door made them all jump.

“ _ Service de chambre _ ,” a polite voice said, muffled by the door.

Gaby burrowed down into the covers. 

“I love you both, but I am not answering the door.” 


End file.
